Chapter 16

Thanks to the support from Secretary Office 3 and Chairman Cashian's personal guarantee, I'd lived really comfortably for the past seven years. No adults at the ImmuneWire Paris Branch dared to mess with me. Well, of course not—Svetlana and the entire Secretary Office 3 crew had stuck around the Paris Branch because of me. Unless someone wanted to get on the chairman's bad side, they might dislike me, but touching me would be sheer madness.

I didn't care if those people hated me. They had nothing to do with me anyway. As long as the people close to me liked me, that was fine. Yeah, close people. Clea had gone through it all with me at the Paris Branch's Talent Development Department—Infant Education Division—Orphan Processing Center—Maison Lumière... Ugh, too long. Anyway, we'd studied together in Class A. To be precise, Clea was originally in Class A, and I got placed there. Normally, I should've grown up at the Central Talent Academy in the Israel HQ. They said kids who showed promise early got elite training there, right? But I'd chosen to live out my school days, so that didn't apply, and I ended up in the highest class at the Paris Branch, Class A.

On the first day, I was tense, expecting some black-company brainwashing, but then Svetlana walked in wearing glasses and said the very first thing...

It was surprisingly normal education. The pace was fast, but hey, Class A. The one unique thing was the coding lessons. Learning those superficial codes systematically was a huge help for me. Now, I could understand chunks of V's code. My cyberspace aptitude had shot up even more.

'V, you're not that big a deal after all, huh?'

'Ow, my head. Halt computation. You really gotta do this?' I could tease her a bit. V was getting sharper over time. What if she went full dark mode and turned into 'Alphabet'? More computation load incoming. Fine, fine, I get it.

By the way, Svetlana in glasses was a no-go. When I told her later, she was shocked.

"I went to the optician to get fitted, thinking it'd make me look like a teacher..."

"They sell glasses? Can't you just get cyberware in your eyes?"

"They're fashion items these days, miss."

Where did she get the idea that teachers had to wear glasses? Svetlana's occasional weird beliefs were hard to grasp. Turns out, it was Enora's role originally, but that woman got booted, so Svetlana stepped in rather than leave the chairman's VIP to just anyone.

Studying under Svetlana and a few other teachers, I realized that in this era, getting sold to ImmuneWire was actually pretty lucky. Minor issue of surviving the death trap first, but yeah. The grown kids would realize the harsh outside world and become even more loyal, making ImmuneWire stronger. A virtuous cycle worthy of a world-dominating megacorp.

Clea had become my perfect childhood friend. Same orphanage, same school, same class. Nine years out of twelve together, and more to come.

So, what happened to our pure little Clea after turning twelve?

"Clea, can I go to my room...?"

"Just a bit longer... I don't wanna let go."

Suspicion turning to certainty. I could see lilies blooming around Clea. From my pure, kind Clea came the scent of a polar bear slayer. Natural for tendencies to emerge with age, but out of all things, why this?

"But I need to grab my textbook."

"Coward! Why do you get your own room, Neige?!"

Like Clea said, I'd had my own room for the past seven years. They said it was made by gutting some dorm room, but I didn't know what ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it used to be. Reason was obvious... duh.

"Miss, you need to understand how dangerous it is to hold the A-1 code. Capturing you means they get almost all of ImmuneWire's data."

Svetlana's words still echoed. I firmly pushed Clea away.

"I wanna room with you too, but... the adults won't let me."

"Hng... Hurry back then. I'll wait."

I didn't hate Clea. Past life as a guy, no real repulsion. But since I'd decided to fix Alphabet, everything else was on hold until it was done.

Opening my room door, the secretaries chatting inside all stood at once. Heavy, disciplined shoe clicks. Ugh, so intimidating. I wished they'd clear out of my private space.

"It's fine. Just here for my textbook."

"We'll get it for you."

"No, I'll do it. My... research results will handle the rest."

Right, since I was in my room, one more thing to mention. In the corner, a human-like doll waved.

Alphabet-related research couldn't be public. Cashian had no bandwidth for AI work in his position, so it was basically just me. No chance for exploring abandoned warzones like Alphabet mentioned. Instead, this project.

"V, pull up the coding theory."

The doll glided smoothly, pulling several USBs from the shelf and handing them over. These were my textbooks here.

"Thanks."

The project was simple: Let V have a body to assist me directly, track code changes. The AI in the doll was real V. Officially, it was a brainwave-controlled puppet from afar. So to others... I looked like I was role-playing solo, calling it "Master" and all.

Taking the USBs, I glanced around cautiously. The secretaries' warm, fond gazes. Too hot—like lying on lava.

"Um... this is..."

"It's fine, miss."

As I tried to explain, they cut in.

"We played with dolls like that as kids too. Pretend it's invisible and enjoy."

"Ah, okay..."

I just bolted from the room. The project had three effects. One, it explained to the secretaries why I had the A-1 code. Brainwave puppet control solved ImmuneWire's weakness in full-scale war. One bitmancer leading a puppet squad would dominate real-world fights.

Two, justified the chairman's favor. A 12-year-old inventing that? Made Cashian's "genius" talk credible.

Three, accelerated Alphabet research. Obvious.

Out of the room, Clea hugged me tight again.

"Let's go, Neige!"

"Yeah..."

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"Oh right, today?"

"What?"

"Genius Academy acceptance announcements."

Right, that.

Cashian promised school life, but with a condition: At 12, enroll in HQ's Genius Academy. Local schools couldn't handle Alphabet research, unavoidable line in the sand. I got it, accepted without hesitation. Special admission for brainwave puppet invention. Clea studied hard and smashed the door open.

"Hehe, we'll study together more."

Probably studied that hard for me. Clea was getting scary now. Virginity to Clea vs. fixing Alphabet—which faster? Time attack? Fix Alphabet before adulthood?

'V, you gotta guard me good.'

'V?'

Gotta extract this thing from my brain later.

And so, in 2167, Clea and I entered ImmuneWire HQ's Genius Academy. The entrance ceremony was flashy even before starting. Gathered geniuses from across the world. Strict criteria meant under 100 students, but personalities varied wildly. Ages 12 to 18 max. Saw some big 18-year-olds towering over peers. Regions mixed as expected: Asia, Africa, South America. Asian kids stirred faint fondness from past life.

Fancy snacks, top facilities... but the real shift was the "vibe." "Finance Director," "Senior Combat Director," "Head Researcher"—all heavy hitters in suits. Graduates guaranteed top management spots. Elites and golden kids made it feel like a noble family social. Lots of family ties visible. Makes sense—top education favors the elite who can afford premium plugs. In this era of info dumps via neck ports, dragons from mud ponds are rare. Bottom-feeders naturally sidelined.

Whatever, smart folks hang with smart folks, us with us. Problem: Clea and I couldn't mingle with bottom-feeders either.

"That the kid?"

"Looks like it. Dragging secretaries like dogs."

My Secretary Office 3 entourage. Trouble in crowds—they got busy.

They coordinated protection from afar, tension obvious. Still linked to Svetlana via comms. Emergency protocol? No president here—just the emperor Cashian's favored girl, a princess maybe? Secretaries formed barriers everywhere, drawing eyes.

"Um... Svetlana sis."

Tried talking, same result.

"As long as you hold A-1 access, unavoidable. Protects from external and internal threats."

That damn A-1. Life-risking, can't quit.

"Neige! I'm fine!"

Clea grabbed my hand reassuringly.

"I'm good next to you, right? You're all I need."

"Really? Glad I have you too."

"Hehehe."

Yeah, trusted folks got through Svetlana's filter. I quietly eyed the crowd beyond. Heavyweights glancing my way. Her worries valid. Couldn't get complacent—blades could fly anytime. Past seven years too peaceful.

Broadcast hit, crowd surged like receding waves. Seated, "Genius Academy" dean droned formalities. Routine stuff, then the moment.

"Now, we'll distribute codes to new students. Your ID, proof of being proud ImmuneWire Genius Academy students—identity codes."

Front row up first. Dean plugged wires smiling, uploading codes; screens showed names, applause poured. Subtle diff in claps—elites vs. rags. Losers, clap harder at least? Glanced at Clea worried, but she beamed. Paris Branch luck kept us sequential.

Happy for her. Clea first, me next. She trotted up joyfully, bared neck. Downloaded, pointed at hers, grinning at me. I smiled back, stepped up. Dean's busy hands paused.

"You, huh."

"Yes?"

"The genius girl under the chairman's favor. Right? Loved your brainwave puppet paper."

"...Yes."

What? Testing me? Svetlana's warning flashed, unease rising.

"Definitely join mechanical engineering. Work in my lab."

Ah, just a prof scouting grads.

Academic purist, no hate. Good words flowed.

"Saw your paper too. On cyberware excess causing mental breaks—"

"Really?!"

"Yes."

"Ah, you got it. Come to my side. Must!"

Grinning like gifting treasure, plugged my neck. Downloading ID code. V stirred.

"...Hah."

Sighed, grabbed dean's hand, yanked wire. No upload, dean panicked.

"You... problem?"

Closed eyes, controlled emotions. Entrance ceremony drama already. Life never ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠easy. Whoever, bring it. Time ticked as I suppressed. Delay at my turn, murmurs rose. Svetlana commed direct.

"Sis, ID code has hacking embedded."

Activated new 12-year-old eye cyberware. Cyberspace synced with reality, blue data nets in vision.

'V, scan.'

All prior kids' data blocks riddled with red data. Interception codes. This it?

Turned to crowd. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Svetlana stood, signaled big. Stationed secretaries moved in sync. She bellowed auditorium-wide.

"Secretary Office 3, full combat deployment!"

"Full combat deployment!"

Atmosphere flipped. Firm secretary voices quelled rising chaos.

"Call security—not academy, HQ side!"

"Yes, Chief!"

"Hacking code in ID codes. Secretary Office 3 takes control now."

Amid it, I handled mine first.

"Clea, here."

"Huh? Oh, got it."

New cyberware wasn't just eyes. Pulled wire from artificial wrist, plugged Clea's neck.

"Done. You're safe."

"Thanks, Neige. Uh... you knew something was off inside?"

"Yeah."

"Always amazing. You..."

Taking Clea's thanks, stood thinking. Expected attacks eventually, but not this way. Who? ImmuneWire elites here. Hacking kids' IDs at elites' kids' ceremony, fearless of backlash. Breached security, embedded hacks undetected, blocked V's trace, vanished like ghost. Elite skill. Rival megacorp? A-2 access insiders? Or... another A-1. Head secretary...?